


Now I Know You Can Rent It

by Why Am I The Witness (PoisonedDeath)



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedDeath/pseuds/Why%20Am%20I%20The%20Witness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even if Mark felt the same way, nothing would be possible between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now I Know You Can Rent It

Roger pulled his coat around him tightly as the cold night continued on. He was sitting on his bed, lost in a bizarre train of thought. It seemed to be a more common suggestion these days, but Roger knew it was also an impossible one. Even if Mark felt the same way, nothing would be possible between them. Mark’s safety was of paramount importance to the songwriter, and there was no way that he would allow his roommate to catch the death sentence from him. He couldn’t protect Mark from every single thing that could possibly lead to the filmmaker getting infected, but he was going to try. The night wore on, and, eventually Roger succumbed to sleep.

When his eyes opened, he could hear light footsteps from outside of his room, indicating that Mark was already up. That wasn’t unusual – it was rare for Roger to be up before his roommate, but the hushed voices he just about made out suggested that the filmmaker wasn't alone. _Who could be here this early?_ Roger wondered to himself as he quickly switched his shirt for a fresher one and made his way out to the living area.

“Sleeping beauty finally decided to join us, then?” Mark teased, handing Roger a cold mug of coffee, “it was warm when I made it, but that was a few hours ago now.” Roger looked around and nodded a greeting when he finally noticed Collins.

“What time is it?” the musician asked, taking a sip of the cold beverage. At almost any other time, he would’ve spat it back into the mug, but he was too thirsty to care about the taste. Instead, he continued to gulp down the brown liquid.   

“Midday,” Collins shrugged, and Roger nearly choked.

“Fuck, I thought it was still morning.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Mark sighed, “You haven’t slept this late for a while. Is everything okay?” Roger could see the concern on his roommates face, but there was no way he could tell the other man why he’d struggled to sleep the previous night. Confessing his feelings would not only be stupid, but pointless too.

“I’m fine, Mark. Just tired,” he finally settled on saying, but he knew that his lie wasn’t going to fool anyone. He was tempted to run back to his room and fiddle with his guitar, but he was fully aware of how suspicious that would look. He didn’t need Mark and Collins on his case about this. Mark still looked worried, but Roger knew that the filmmaker wasn’t going to pursue the topic any further. Instead, Mark picked up his camera.

“I’m going out to film. Do you want to join me?”

“No,” Roger said bluntly, placing the now-empty mug down on the nearest surface. The songwriter watched Collins, who seemed to debate the idea in his head before turning to Mark.

“I think I’ll stay here. Enjoy yourself,” Roger let out a frustrated sigh at Collins’ words.

“Well, at least you can remind him to take his AZT,” Mark said as he left the loft.

“Spill,” Collins’ words pierced through the air, and left the songwriter vulnerable. He didn’t want to tell Collins. Collins might tell Mark, and he really couldn’t bear to fuck everything up. Mark was his best friend; he’d helped him through so much shit and for him to fuck it up for something that couldn't happen anyway , well it was all just- Collins cleared his throat, snapping Roger from his thoughts.

“It’s nothing. I’ve just been thinking too much lately, that’s all,” the songwriter shrugged. His answer was pathetic, and although it was technically true, it was also completely unconvincing.

“What have you been thinking about?”

“Just… just stuff,” the musician muttered.

“Fine… _who_ have you been thinking about?” the smirk in Collins’ voice was unmistakable.

“I can’t do anything about it, though. There’s no point.”

“Tell him.”

“I can’t it wi- wait… how do you know it’s a ‘him’?” Roger narrowed his eyes.

“Because we all see the way you look at him. It’s not surprising really – you’ve been through so much together. But ignoring it like this won’t make it go away.”

“Who is it, then? If you’re so sure, then tell me,” Roger challenged. His words were desperate, and they were laced with a slight hint of uncertainty.

“I know who it is,” Collins countered, “but I won’t say. That’s for you to confess.”

“You don’t know, then,” Roger concluded, his voice shaking. The glare he’d earned from his friend told him that Collins knew exactly who they were talking about.

“Just because he’s negative doesn’t me-”

“Don’t tell me what it does or doesn’t fucking mean! I can’t give him this- this death sentence. I refuse to be the one to kill him!” Roger shouted, his body shaking.

“Roger,” Collins whispered as he watched the musician slide down the wall. Roger was now sitting on the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked so weak and pitiful, and Collins wished that Mark was there. Mark would know how to help the sobbing songwriter. The anarchist tentatively kneeled down in front of his friend and placed a hand on his knee. The sudden contact snapped Roger back to reality.

“I can’t hurt him,” he forced out.

“Then tell him.”

“But that will-“

“It won’t hurt him. He cares about you, okay? You don’t know what might happen,” Collins tried to reassure the songwriter.

“Nothing will happen. That’s the point,” Roger sighed as his sobs subsided.

“There’s more to a relationship that sex,” Collins said bluntly, patting the musician’s knee, and climbing to his feet, “now, let’s dry those tears before Mark gets back. Also, AZT,” Roger obliged, and then spent the next few hours strumming his guitar and idly chatting with his friend. By the time Mark came back, it was time for Collins to leave. The anarchist whispered a few words to Roger before leaving him with the filmmaker, who was attempting to find some sort of food in their cupboards that hadn’t expired.

“Can you see anything?” Roger asked his roommate, walking up behind him.

“No- _shit_! Rog, you scared me!” Mark let out a quiet laugh as he shook his head at the songwriter, who was grinning, “I’m glad to see you’ve cheered up, though.” Roger stood there for a moment and allowed himself to consider the possibility of telling Mark how he felt. There was so much to lose, but maybe- no, no he couldn’t. He had to keep Mark safe, he had to-

“Roger! You zoned out again…” Roger looked into Mark’s eyes. _Fuck it_. He smashed their lips together, his right hand reaching up to tangle his finger’s in the filmmaker’s strawberry blonde locks. Although he was visibly startled, Mark snaked an arm around Roger’s waist as he kissed back. When they pulled apart – only because breathing is a necessity – both men were blushing, but had identical grins on their faces.

“That’s… that’s what I wanted to say,” Roger managed to say, fear beginning to swell in his gut.

“About time,” Mark smiled, pressing his lips gently to Roger’s.

“Y-you knew?”

“Maureen had guessed, apparently. She told me a few months back, and ever since, I’ve realized how obvious you are about it,” Mark shrugged. Silence drifted through the loft for a few moments.

“I wasn’t going to tell you. I mean, I don’t want to kill you,” the musician whispered. Mark nodded. He understood that Roger was afraid – the songwriter had watched Mimi die last year, Angel the year before that, and April the year before that, so obviously he’d want to keep Mark safe.  

“You won’t,” Mark reassured him, pressing another quick kiss to Roger’s pair. The fear in Roger’s eyes told every story that it needed to – watching Mimi pretty much die twice, finding April in the bathtub – and Mark being there for him throughout it all. Mark held him through the withdrawal. Mark spent his time trying to do what was best for Roger. Roger knew that this relationship wasn’t what was best for Mark, and he just wanted to return the favor.

“I’m going to die, Mark,” the musician began quietly. He watched as Mark stared at the floor and took a deep breath before looking up at the blonde man again.

“I know, but that makes this more important. You want to be with me, right?”

“Yes, yes of course I do but this _disease_ -”

“Is not important. I can kiss you. I can tell you I love you. I won’t get infected,” Mark told him. Roger thought for a minute and then nodded.

“Okay, okay… We’ll try,” Mark grinned in response, and it was the widest grin that Roger had ever seen on the filmmaker’s face. The pair kissed once again, this time slowly, their way of telling the other how much they meant without words. When they separated again, both men were smiling.

“We still need food…” Roger mused out loud and Mark snorted out a laugh.

“And that is why I love you,” he chuckled as he turned back to the cupboard again, resuming the hunt for food.

“You love me?”

“Of course,” the grin was clearly audible in the filmmaker’s voice.

“I love you, too,” Roger sighed happily as he wrapped his arms around Mark’s waist. This was perfect. Even if this disease was going to tear them apart someday, they still had today.


End file.
